seeing them).

We shall be drown'd without your kind assistance.

Sweet Master Owlspiegle, your dragonfly!

Your straw, your beanstalk, gentle Cockle'moy!

LEON. (looking from the shot-hole). 'Tis true, by all that's fearful! The proud lake

Peers, like ambitious tyrant, o'er his bounds,

And soon will whelm the castle; even the drawbridge

Is under water now.

KAT. Let us escape! Why stand

you gazing there?

DUR. Upon the opening of that

fatal grate

Depends the fearful spell that now

entraps us.

The key of Black Lord Erick-ere we find it

The castle will be whelm'd beneath the waves,

And we shall perish in it!

KAT. (giving the key). Here, prove this;

A chance most strange and fearful gave it me.

[OSWALD puts it into the lock, and attempts to turn it; a loud clap of thunder.

FLO. The lake still rises faster. Leonard, Leonard, Canst thou not save us?

[LEONARD tries the lock; it opens with a violent noise, and the

[GULLCRAMMER offers to take it.] But soft you, sir,

We'll not disturb your learning for the matter;

Yet, since you've borne a part in this strange drama,

You shall not go unguerdon'd. Wise or learn'd,

Modest or gentle, Heaven alone can make thee,

Being so much otherwise; but from this abundance

Thou shalt have that shall gild thine ignorance,

Exalt thy base descent, make thy presumption

Seem modest confidence, and find

thee hundreds

Ready to swear that same fool's-cap of thine

Is reverend as a mitre.

GUL. Thanks, mighty baron, now no more a bare one!

I will be quaint with him, for all
his quips.
[Aside.
Osw. Nor shall kind Katleen lack
Her portion in our happiness.

KAT. Thanks, my good lord, but
Katleen's fate is fix'd:

There is a certain valiant forester, Too much afear'd of ghosts to sleep anights

In his lone cottage, without one to guard him.

JOHN MURE OF AUCHINDRANE, an Ayrshire

Baron. He has been a follower of the Regent, Earl of Morton, during the Civil Wars, and hides an oppressive, ferocious, and unscrupulous disposi tion under some pretences to strictness of life and doctrine, which, however, never influence his conduct. He is in danger from the law, owing to his having been formerly active in the assassination of the Earl of Cassilis. PHILIP MURE, his son, a wild, debauched profligate, professing and practising a contempt for his father's hypocrisy, while he is as fierce and licentious as Auchindrane himself.

GIFFORD, their relation, a Courtier. QUENTIN BLANE, a youth, educated for a

Clergyman, but sent by AUCHINDRANE to serve in a Band of Auxiliaries in the Wars of the Netherlands, and lately employed as Clerk or Comptroller to the Regiment-disbanded, however, and on his return to his native country. He is of a mild, gentle, and rather feeble character, liable to be influenced by any person of stronger mind who will take the trouble to direct him. He is somewhat of a nervous temperament, varying from sadness to gaiely, accord

ACT I.

SCENE 1.

A rocky Bay on the coast of Carrick, in Ayrshire, not far from the Point of Turnberry. The sea comes in upon a bold rocky shore. The remains of a small half-ruined Tower are seen on the right hand, overhanging the sea. There is a Vessel at a distance in the offing. A Boat at the bottom of the Stage lands eight or ten persons, dressed like disbanded, and in one or two cases like disabled soldiers. They come straggling forward with their knapsacks and bundles. HILDEBRAND, the Sergeant, belonging to the party, a stout elderly man, stands by the boat, as if superintending the disembarkation. QUENTIN remains apart.

ABRAHAM. Farewell the flats of Holland, and right welcome The cliffs of Scotland! Fare thee well, black beer

And Schiedam gin! and welcome twopenny,

Oatcakes, and usquebaugh!

WILLIAMS (who wants an arm). Farewell, the gallant field, and 'Forward, pikemen !'

For the bridge-end, the suburb, and the lane ;

Quentin no longer clerk to it. WIL. For shame! for shame! What! shall old comrades jar thus,

And on the verge of parting, and for ever?

Nay, keep thy temper, Abraham, though a bad one.

Good Master Quentin, let thy song last night

Give us once more our welcome to old Scotland.

ABR. Ay, they sing light whose

task is telling money,

When dollars clink for chorus.

QUE. I've done with counting silver, honest Abraham,

As thou, I fear, with pouching thy small share on 't.

But lend your voices, lads, and I will sing

As blithely yet as if a town were won;

And welcome poverty and peaceful labour.

ABR. Clerk Quentin, if of fighting thou art tired,

By my good word, thou'rt quickly satisfied,

For thou'st seen but little on 't.

WIL. Thou dost belie him; I have

seen him fight

Bravely enough for one in his condition.

ABR. What, he? that counter-cast

ing, smockfaced boy?

What was he but the colonel's scribbling drudge,

With men of straw to stuff the regi

ment roll;

With cipherings unjust to cheat his comrades,

And cloak false musters for our noble captain?

He bid farewell to sword and petrone!! He should have said, farewell my pen and standish;

These, with the rosin used to hide erasures,

Were the best friends he left in camp behind him.

QUE. The sword you scoff at is not

far, but scorns The threats of an unmanner'd mutineer. SER. (interposing). We'll have no

brawling. Shall it e'er be said, That being comrades six long years together,

While gulping down the frowsy fogs

of Holland,

We tilted at each other's throats so

soon

As the first draught of native air refresh'd them?

No! by Saint Dunstan, I forbid the combat.

You all, methinks, do know this trusty halberd ;

For I opine, that every back amongst

you

Hath felt the weight of the tough ashen staff,

In the full quantity; and for the argu

ments

wishes

A remembrancer now?

[Raises his halberd. ABR. Comrades, have you ears To hear the old man bully? Eyes to see His staff rear'd o'er your heads, as o'er the hounds

The huntsman cracks his whip?

WIL. Well said! Stout Abraham has the right on't.

I tell thee, sergeant, we do reverence thee,

And pardon the rash humours thou hast caught,

Like wiser men, from thy authority. 'Tis ended, howsoe'er, and we'll not suffer

A word of sergeantry, or halberd-staff, Nor the most petty threat of discipline. If thou wilt lay aside thy pride of office,

And drop thy wont of swaggering and commanding,

Thou art our comrade still for good

or evil.

Else take thy course apart, or with

the clerk there

A sergeant thou, and he being all thy regiment.

SER. Is't come to this, false knaves?
And think you not,

That if you bear a name o'er other soldiers,

It was because you follow'd to the charge

One that had zeal and skill enough to

lead you

Where fame was won by danger?

WIL. We grant thy skill in leading, noble sergeant;

Witness some empty boots and sleeves amongst us,

Which else had still been tenanted with limbs

resolution,

Our shoulders do record them. At a word,

Will you conform, or must we part our company?

SER. Conform to you? Base dogs!
I would not lead you

A bolt-flight farther to be made a general.

Mean mutineers! when you swill'd off the dregs

Of my poor sea-stores, it was, 'Noble Sergeant

Heaven bless old Hildebrand-we 'll follow him,

At least until we safely see him lodged Within the merry bounds of his own England!'

WIL. Ay, truly, sir; but, mark, the